


Systematic

by commodorecliche



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Chris is a sneaky little shit, Comedy, Dirty Talk, First Time, Hair, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Roughness, Sex, hair worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4745303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commodorecliche/pseuds/commodorecliche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: <i>Chris is completely obsessed with Zach's hair. He loves touching it, playing with it, etc., mostly when it hasn't got any mousse/gel/gunk in it. So, naturally, he steals all of Zach's hair products and holds them for ransom. Sexytimes are a bonus, but cuddling is fine, too.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Systematic

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a prompt-fic a hella long time ago (for the_deep_magic), but I decided it deserved a fresh polish. 
> 
> This is literally nothing but hair-kink, practical jokes, and porn.
> 
> (PS: this is set back when the boys lived close to each other)

It all starts with a hug.

Just a hug, really. Granted, alright, maybe it  _is_ a tad too intimate a hug and  _maybe_ it lasts a little too long for two dudes – but hey. It’s a hug. And that’s where it all starts.

And it’s during this hug that Chris manages to pull Zach in tight against him, their heads pressed against each other warmly in the embrace, and he catches it: that first, single whiff of Zach’s hair.

And it’s… it’s  _enrapturing_ .

Let’s get one thing straight: the first time he smells Zach’s hair, it absolutely does  _not_ send shivers down Chris’s spine simply because it smells like Paul Smith London shampoo or whatever other fantastically “fabulous” shampoo/conditioner combinations Zach uses. No, it isn’t that: the scent of the shampoo has long since faded, hours of the day erasing the product’s presence. It doesn’t smell like Paul Smith London. It doesn’t smell like the Bed Head workable wax he uses. It doesn’t smell like the Power Surge hairspray either.

By now, it’s just… hair. It smells like hair, the scent of strands, and scalp, and skin, and it smells like  _Zach_ . And Chris can’t get over it.    

From there, things only get worse. It started with a hug, but persists with playful gestures that Chris can’t seem to hold back. Zach has always taken such meticulous care of his hair: he washes it with ritzy shampoos, conditions it just right, he finds all the right products for all the right styles. And frankly, Chris doesn’t so much mind the products themselves, hell, he doesn’t even really mind their smell, even if they hide the smell of Zach’s  _hair_ . He could let all that go.

What Chris minds is the fact that when he reaches out to playfully ruffle his fingers through Zach’s hair, he is met with unforgiving rigidity from gels and sprays and products, and he’s absolutely floored by it.

That isn’t hair. At least, that isn’t what hair is supposed to feel like. And there’s an inkling of bitter bewilderedment bubbling up inside him, because he had always imagined that Zach’s hair would feel amazing. It honestly might feel incredible, were it not coiffed and styled with a myriad of products. But for now, Chris can only assume and speculate about its softness, because Zach’s hair is rarely without product during his waking hours.

And so Chris waits. He waits, and waits, waiting for the right time to attempt the gesture again. He’s a bit smarter about it this time around; he waits until the end of the day, he waits until he can smell Zach’s hair again rather than simply Zach’s hair products when they hug. He waits until he begins to see the natural movement return to Zach’s locks, watching as it begins to tire and wave and loosen, hanging down over Zach’s forehead of its own accord.

Chris wants to touch it. He wants to truly feel its texture, he wants to know if it’s as silky as he imagines it might be. Without the product, there is a sheen to it: it’s dark but lustrous still, like the sea on a moonlit night. And Chris wants to feel it. So he endures through the day, waits through a full morning and afternoon and early evening until they’re finally able to head home. They relax at Zach’s place after their day of meets of pre-production sluggishness.

They drink coffee at first – to keep them awake as they peruse their scripts. They have beer eventually because script reading can get dull. And things begin to feel a little heavy – not drunk, per se, just a little weighty and fuzzy. They drink and they sit close, and Chris sits a little bit closer, if only to let himself closer to the refreshing and open scent of Zach’s locks. There’s no lingering odors of products or shampoos, and Chris smiles and chuckles a bit and hopes that Zach thinks he’s laughing at whatever he just said, because frankly, Chris hasn’t even been listening. He takes another sip of his beer, laughs again, dares to scoot closer, and before Zach can even protest, Chris reaches over and musses his hair carelessly. 

Dark pieces and strands flop every which way and Chris loves it, because it’s one of the few times he’s ever seen Zach so unraveled. Zach groans and laughs a bitter little giggle, knocking Chris’s hand away and desperately trying to rearrange his locks.

Chris knows it’s pointless, but he leans over against Zach while he tries to fix his hair and breathes in the scent of him.

He stays the night – not an unusual occurrence for the two of them – and they make sure to set up another man-date. Coffee, books, script-reading, movies, and some beer; a normal night for the two of them. Chris returns to his home and showers slowly, carding his fingers through his hair steadily to lather it up. As he rinses, he stares at lone bottle of shampoo in his shower: it’s a two-in-one shampoo/conditioner combo, and please, for the love of god, never let Zach find that out. The last thing he needs is to have to sit through another one of Zach’s lectures on how to properly lather, rinse, repeat in order to retain proper levels of moisture and body.

But he stares at it and thinks – he thinks about how Zach’s bathroom has gel, and mousse, sprays and styling waxes, moisture control and all sorts of crazy shit that Chris feels should have just stayed at the salon. It seems so ridiculous to him, he just can’t understand it, because Zach’s hair is absolutely beautiful. And yeah, okay, he  _knows_ , that’s easily probably one of the gayest things he’s ever thought, but he doesn’t really care. Because he loves Zach’s hair.

He loves the way it smells. He loves the way it tumbles and falls over Zach’s forehead. He loves to watch when Zach rakes his fingers through it after a really long day. He even likes to imagine getting to slip his own fingers into those ebony tresses. 

It is completely unrelated that he also likes to imagine how it might feel to stare down at Zach kneeling in front of him, with his fingers fisted in those oh so silky locks of his.

Okay, so maybe the “Zach’s hair is beautiful” comment wasn’t the gayest thing he’s ever thought, but does that really matter? 

Chris breathes in deeply, rinsing his hair a bit more and desperately trying to ignore the fact that he’s undoubtedly hard at this point. He sighs, leaning back against the wall, and drags his hands over his face. He stares down at his cock incredulously as if to ask himself “How old are we?”, because this is just silly. He huffs and glances back down at the shampoo bottle with a shake of his head.

He’s set to get out, ready to shut off the water, but as he reaches for it, he pauses, turning his head back to glance at the shampoo bottle. He focuses on it for a minute, the tiniest of smirks edging its way onto his face, and he breathes out a small chuckle.

He’s got an idea.

The smile stays plastered on his lips as he shuts the water off, wraps himself in a towel, and yet again wills his erection to go away. But he isn’t all that bothered by it anymore, because he’s got a plan. 

::

The next time he and Zach hang out, Chris is proud to admit that things go exactly how he hoped they would.

He and Zach get coffee together, they babble on about script changes, they wander about town, rent a movie or two, and head back to Zach’s place where a case of beer in the fridge surely awaits them. But try as he might, Chris can’t seem to draw his focus away from Zach’s hair. The only relief is when he thinks and schemes quietly to himself about how he wants this evening to progress.

He has to be smart about it, make sure that everything is properly planned. It needs to be meticulous and methodical, and yet smooth, as if nothing were amiss. He’s actually a little proud of his plans; it’s so well laid out in his head, and part of him wishes he’d made some mission blue prints or something, just for the added cool factor. He doesn’t really need blue prints: he knows Zach’s house backwards and forwards, and frankly, this plan only involves one room and the exit. But still. It would’ve been cool.

The plan doesn’t really go into action until later in the evening, as he’s preparing to leave Zach’s place for the night. He has avoided Zach’s hair all night; he hasn’t stared at it, he hasn’t tried to touch or ruffle it. He needs to avoid suspicion, because tonight hinges on one simple action.

They’re sitting on the couch when Chris stretches dramatically, lengthening his body into the couch and feeling his back crack once, twice in the process. The release feels nice. He rubs his eyes and looks at Zach sleepily.

“Mmm, well, it’s getting late. I should probably head back to my place.”

“Yeeeah, I should hit the hay too. I’ll walk you out.”

This is it, this is his chance.

“Cool, just gimme a sec, gotta run to the restroom.”

Without another word, Chris bounds up the stairs towards Zach’s bathroom, as Zach mutters a casual ‘okay’. Chris is only gone for a couple of moments, giving himself just enough time. When he returns, he reaches out and grabs onto Zach’s shoulder, wiping his wet hands along the fabric of Zach’s shirt with a groan.

“God, don’t you just  _hate_ it when you get it on your hands?”

Zach recoils quickly.

“Fucking ew, dude.”

Chris laughs and wipes his hands off on his jeans.

“Chill, it’s just water. Should know me better that that.” He scolds playfully. 

“You’re absolutely beastly sometimes.”

“And you love me for it.”

“Sure, yeah, whatever, get the hell out.” Zach laughs, ushering Chris down the hall towards the front door. He still gives Chris a hug – during which Chris manages to catch a quick whiff of Zach’s hair – before shoving him out the door. As the door shuts behind him, Chris smirks proudly to himself.

He strides down the steps, mulling to himself how smoothly that had gone. Because what Zach hadn’t noticed was the small bottle of styling mousse that Chris had stolen and stored in the waistband of his jeans (covered ideally by his  _slightly_ too-long t-shirt). Once he’s far enough away, he grabs the bottle out from his waist, tossing it up and catching it, whistling proudly to himself as he strolls the few blocks back to his house. 

Once he’s home, he carries the bottle with him as he moves idly through his house towards his bedroom. His eyes peruse the label of the bottle, steadily reading the ingredients and instructions for the mousse. Chris reads through it with a chuckle, finding the entire thing both hilarious and a bit pointless. Because frankly, what can this bottle of mousse do that a little bit of gel can’t?

The smile only leaves his face once his eyes finally glance at the price tag. He almost chokes on his own spit.

Thirty. Fucking. Dollars. Thirty dollars for a  _four inch_ tall bottle of mousse?

If  _nothing_ else justifies his plan, that fucking price tag alone does. All other excuses and rationale aside, Chris cannot just sit back and let Zach waste $30 on a bottle of foamy goo all for the sake of fluffing or caking up his hair. He just won’t allow it. He groans and goes into his own bathroom, opening up the lowest drawer on the sink, and tosses the mousse to the back.

Goodbye unnatural fluff, and hello loose, silky locks. 

Chris migrates back into his bedroom, stripping off his shirt as he goes, and plops down onto the bed. Eyes focused up on the ceiling, he lets his hand graze along the bare skin of his stomach, fingers inching and toying around the waistband of his jeans.

He thinks to himself. He can’t just take another bottle too quickly, or Zach will absolutely get suspicious. But he can’t wait too long either, lest Zach notice its absence and coming looking for it. Or even worse, go and buy more.

He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t stop thinking about Zach’s hair: inky and thick. It isn’t just dark, it’s silvery and shimmery on the edges, so rich in color, so lively. And that glow can’t be just the result of shampoos or products, Chris knows that much for sure.

It’s just Zach’s hair.

From the few times Chris has felt it, he  _knows_ that it is thick and full to the touch. He knows it’s soft, too, and that it’s probably strong. And so he doesn’t feel  _too_ bad when he wonders about how tightly he could hold it, lace it around his fingers. How hard he could tug on it. How roughly he could fist it in his hand. 

The breath that leaves his lips is accidentally and dangerous close to a whimper. He can’t seem to help himself either when the fingers of his right hand begin to shakily undo the buttons of his jeans, slipping down past the waistband of his boxers to take hold of his length.

He’s already hard, that image of Zach suddenly so prominent in his head. Zach’s hair ruffled, disheveled, his face flushed and his lips reddened and puffy as Chris hangs onto his hair with firm fingers, guiding Zach’s mouth along the length of his cock. Chris groans, hand beginning to stroke himself more firmly. His left hand lifts up to his own head, fingers slipping over his scalp, threading through his own disheveled hair. He tugs on it. He tugs on it and imagines it’s Zach’s hair he’s touching.

It doesn’t take long for him to come, a desperate groan on his lips. 

::

When he sees Zach the next day, Chris is a bit dismayed to see that Zach’s hair… doesn’t look any different than it normally does when it’s styled… And he’s confused.

Did he take the wrong product? I mean, he’ll admit, he doesn’t know all that much abut hair care aside from shampoo, conditioner, and maybe some gel. To Chris, gel, wax, and mousse are all the same thing, and he’s sure that Zach would be utterly appalled to hear such a thing. But god, how much else could Zach have that the theft wouldn’t at all affect the appearance of Zach’s hair?

He waits a few days before he dares to snag any more of Zach’s beauty products, if only to avoid suspicion. Sure, he still goes and hangs out at Zach’s place, but he waits until other people have been there too. It’s a small gesture, but he hopes it’s enough to be a reminder to Zach that Chris hasn’t been the only outsider, just in case he begins to notice the increasing disappearances of his hair care products. 

Chris is a little worried that perhaps he’s waited too long; he knows he’s toeing the line, that surely Zach has noticed the mousse’s absence by now and has at least contemplated buying another bottle. When he gets his next opportunity, he’s almost afraid he’d find a fresh bottle sitting on Zach’s bathroom counter.

He treats this like any other evening; they chill together at Zach’s place, playing Scrabble, drinking, making fun of each other for being fucking nerds (while both secretly wishing they could be the biggest nerd). But Chris is a little nervous, because as the evening draws to a close, he knows he’s losing time to stage another theft. And he can’t continually use Zach’s bathroom right before he leaves – there’s a guest bathroom on the first floor, and Zach will surely get suspicious if Chris avoids it with any frequency.

His saving grace is Noah – the sweetest pup but pampered and spoiled to boot. Noah comes bounding into the living room, leash in his mouth, and Zach just sighs knowing all too well that Noah wants to go for a walk, and he wants to go for a walk now.

Chris laughs.

“Zach, I think your owner is ready to take you out for your walk.”

Zach flips him off and groans, grabbing the leash out of Noah’s mouth and clipping it to the dog’s collar.

“Be right back.” He mumbles, waving haphazardly at Chris as he slips out the front door.

Chris watches him leave, waiting until the door has shut fully and the lock clicked before he moves. He stands quickly and dashes up the stairs. He doesn’t have much time; the walk will only take five minutes, six minutes at  _most_ . He darts quickly into Zach’s bathroom, ready for another heist.

Once inside, he stares at the counter top, the row of products sitting atop it as if it were mocking him.

What should he take?

There’s… styling wax. Or styling… gel?

Fuck it, Chris doesn’t know the difference, we’ve been over that already. And so he decides to take both. He probably  _should_ hide them in his waistband, like he did the last time, but these are bulky and weirdly shaped, and Chris is sure there won’t be enough room. He groans to himself, idly wondering how long Zach has been gone at this point. He’s got to get them out of the house without Zach noticing.

With a bite of his lip, he wonders if he has time to run to his car. It’s risky, but he could probably play it off. With a brief nod to himself, he grips the two products in his hands, not even glancing at their price tags, knowing that the sight alone might slow him down. He snags his keys off the hallway table, edging himself slyly out the door and to his car.

It takes a minute, but he finally manages to fumble the keys and pop the trunk, tossing the two stolen objects into the car carelessly. Somewhere close by, he hears the tell-tale sign of footsteps and the distinct clicking of Noah’s “need-to-be-clipped” nails against the sidewalk. Chris panics, closing the trunk as fast as he can, and fumbling to open the back door and reach inside to sift around for something specific.

As he reaches in, he hears Zach say his name, but it’s just in time. He’s got his alibi in hand. 

“…Chris? What are you doing?”

Chris just smiles, leans up out of the back seat and stands. There’s a book in his hand that he’d pulled up from the floorboard, and he waves it idly.

“Nothing, I just remembered I had your book in my car. Figured I’d give it back to you.”

The deception works.

Zach smiles and takes the book from him.

“Thanks, man. Been wondering if I was ever getting this back.”

::

Once Chris gets home, dragging the two hair products of his trunk, he wonders where he could store his stolen treasures. He could just shove them in the bathroom drawer, like he did with the mousse, but he feels like that’s going to fill up quickly if he does manage to continually lift hair products from his friend. Plus, if ever happened Zach to open the drawer, having all the stolen items in there at once would not look too good.

No. If Zach wants these products back, he’s gunna have to work for them. Reclaiming the items – if he ever begins to suspect Chris – is going to be fucking Indiana Jones, Raiders of Lost Ark kind of shit.

Chris puts the styling wax on top of the bookcase, just out of sight. The gel gets tossed into a barely-used kitchen drawer that’s mostly littered with other odds and ends. And so, with the gel hidden away, Chris closes the drawer firmly, and forgets about it. 

::

The next time Chris sees Zach, he’s more than a little giddy over the fact that Zach’s hair is loose and free-falling. It looks a little haphazard, a little disheveled, and Chris wants nothing more than to slip his fingers into those ebony tresses. It’s all he can do to resist grabbing a handful and pulling Zach into a deep, hair-pulling kind of kiss.

Zach looks fucking amazing.

But he looks frustrated, and that much is obvious. Chris plays the ‘good friend’ card, asking him innocently if something is wrong. Zach just shrugs and shakes his head.

“I dunno, man… Just feel… really forgetful lately? It’s putting me off…”

“Hah, you? Mr. Meticulous?” Chris chuckles innocently.

“Don’t even know, dude. Like, I keep losing shit. I lost my wax and my gel, I lost my freaking keys the other day, couldn’t find Noah’s leash… Spilled coffee on my script and couldn’t find my spare copy. I can’t even find my mousse, so my hair just doing whatever the fuck it feels like doing.”

Chris puts a sympathetic hand on his shoulder and gives him a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t stress, man. It’ll be fine. You’re probably just a little frazzled. I know start of filming always fucks me up a bit. But you’ll get back into the rhythm, you always do.”

_Goddamn_ , he is a good actor.

“Yeah…” Zach mutters, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“I’m always right. Plus, the stylists here are gunna butcher your hair anyway, Mr. Spock.”

“Live long and go fuck yourself.”

“I’m just gunna pretend you said you loved me.” 

::

The thefts persist for only a few more days, honestly. Chris does his best to monitor and abet the situation. He tries to keep Zach’s mind off his hair – or else he risks Zach growing frustrated and simply buying more products. But he can’t be too obvious about trying to keep his friend’s focus off his hair and hair products, or else he risks Zach growing suspicious.

Chris doesn’t want to brag, but does pretty well. He manages to swipe a good number of Zach’s hair products, his hidden collection consisting now of mousse, styling gel, sculpting wax, hair spray, and leave-in treatments. He doesn’t touch Zach’s shampoo – that’s too obvious – it’s too bold a move, and plus, Zach does kind of need some sort of shampoo.

The only thing that’s left now is Zach’s “Healthy Sexy Hair, Soy Renewal, Nourishing Styling Treatment” (whatever the  _fuck_ that means…). The bottle itself is small, and he wore a decently large shirt again today, so he figures he can probably smuggle it out as he leaves just as he did the first time. Chris has used a few different methods so far, just to avoid suspicion of the typical “Hey, gotta use to the restroom before I go, surprise, something is missing in the morning” routine. So he figures it’ll be okay if he just snags it this final time and keeps it simple.

He goes by Zach’s, they drink a bit, and Chris makes sure to let Zach drink just a  _little_ more than he does, if only to get him to relax and forget about the fact that his hair no longer stays styled or how he constantly has to card his fingers through it just to keep it out of the way. And with every passing day, Chris wishes more and more that Zach’s fingers could be his own, getting to tread and explore through the silky, iridescent textures of Zach’s hair.

Maybe someday. For now, he’ll just have to appreciate it from afar. 

Chris pushes himself up from the couch, mumbling about how he should head home since it’s getting late and he’s got meetings all day the next day. It isn’t a lie either; they both have a full schedule. Zach just nods and grins a little, face slightly flushed from the alcohol. He stands steadily when Chris, and Chris can’t help but stare at him for a moment. With an uneasy hand, Chris dares to lift it and allow his fingers to brush tentatively against Zach’s hair. Chris’s fingers just barely touch that softness, but Zach smiles none the less.

Chris feels his face flush and drops his hand, mumbling again about how he should head out. As if it were an afterthought, he states quietly that he needs to run to the restroom before he leaves. 

And so he uses the restroom, washes his hands, and snags the last remaining bottle of false scent and texture, tucking it in his waistband and covering it with his shirt. Zach trails him as he goes to leave and stops him halfway out the door. He tugs Chris into a tight hug and Chris can’t help how deeply he breathes, just trying to get an extra dose of Zach’s hair. As they hug, he presses his head a little more tightly against Zach’s, feeling the tickling texture of individual strands as they graze the tip of his nose. And my god, does Chris love this.

They pull away slowly and Zach says goodnight. Chris heads to his car, the product still hidden and tucked away at his waist, and he feels an odd mixture of guilt and pride over his victory. He knows that Zach loves to style his hair, but he seems to have let it go, allowing more and more for his hair to fall naturally. Chris is just thankful that as he’d sequestered the products, Zach hadn’t bothered to procure anymore cakey, overpriced, and frankly unnecessary products to replace this missing ones.

Chris hides the final bottle in his sock drawer.

::

Chris _knows_ that eventually, Zach is bound to figure out what’s been going on: all the “mysterious” disappearances of his hair products, all the convenient excuses Chris has used to use Zach’s bathroom. Chris accepts the fact that eventually, Zach is going to figure things out. And whenever that day comes, Chris is fully prepared to come clean on the matter. But for now… Zach hasn’t mentioned it, aside from the occasional comments about how unruly his hair is these days. But he doesn’t buy more product; hell, he doesn’t even really bother attempting to style it anymore. And Chris fucking loves it.

When he’d first started this little crusade, Chris had only expected to get away with it for a few days. He had figured that he’d get to see Zach’s natural hair a couple of times, and that would’ve been good enough. But this has lasted for almost two weeks now, and although he’s surprised, he isn’t about to complain. Any time he hears Zach whine about his hair, anytime Zach frustratedly rakes his fingers through it, Chris just shivers and pats his friend’s shoulder, and tells him that his hair looks  _fine_ .

Because it  _does_ . Hell, it looks _better_ than fine.

One evening, after filming begins, Zach offers to make dinner for the two of them. It’s somewhat out of the blue, but he offers with such kindness that Chris can’t help but say yes.

“I feel like I’ve been whining a lot lately…” Zach starts, “And you’ve been a great friend, so yeah, dinner, my treat.” 

Chris just smiles and nods, agreeing enthusiastically.

“Definitely.”

Zach comes to Chris’s place later than evening, grocery bags in hand, proposing some Spanish dish (“Traditional,” he says, “de España!”, he exclaims.) Zach begins to set up in the kitchen, yanking out ingredients and grabbing some pots and pans from the island. Chris watches with a sort of calm comfort about the two of the, smiling quietly in Zach’s direction as he starts prepping.

Chris is about to offer his help, but he’s interrupted by the piercing sound of his cell phone. He glances at the caller ID, “Mom” flashing brightly and he holds a hand up, excusing himself and apologizing to Zach.

Zach smiles and nods, waving Chris off silently.

Chris migrates out of the kitchen, sauntering into the hallway to talk with his mother, Zach beginning to sear some pork and yanking out a few peppers.

From the kitchen, over the sound of his mother’s voice, Chris hears Zach shout,

“Chris! Yo, you got a big chopping knife or anything?”

He doesn’t even think before responding.

“One sec, Ma,” He says before turning his head to yell back into the kitchen, “Yeah, it’s in the far right drawer, I think!”

“Thank you!” Zach yells back, and Chris quickly turns his attention back to his phone call.

“Sorry about that, Ma, what were you sa-” Chris stops dead in the middle of the sentence, suddenly very focused on the sound of the kitchen drawer opening, realization beginning to flood over him. Before he can even stutter “Mom, I’m gunna need to call you back,” he hears Zach’s voice carrying out from the kitchen.

_“Christopher Whitelaw Pine!!”_

“Honey, are you okay?” Chris’s mother asks, “Who’s with you?”

“Damn, sorry, Ma… It’s just Zach… Let me, uh, let me call you back.”  

Chris hangs up as quickly as he can, turning around to face the doorway between the kitchen and the hall. Zach stands there and stares at him, and Chris can’t exactly tell what the look on his face is trying to say. It’s a toss between “So this is where my hair products were” and “I am so mad I could kill you”. Chris probably _should_ focus on the look on Zach’s face a bit more closely, if only for his own survival, but he honestly is absolutely captivated by the way Zach’s hair is dangling loosely across his forehead and eyes.

“It’s been _you_.” Zach says, his voice low.

“I… I, uh. What?” Chris stutters back.

Eloquent.

“…It’s been you. _You’re_ the one…” Zach trails off.

Chris tries to deflect, to make this into a joke.”

“The one? Gosh, I’m uh, I-I’m fl-flattered, Zach…”

Zach stares daggers at him. Okay, so the joke-plan isn’t working. Time for Plan B, which would be great if Chris actually had a Plan B. Instead, he simply backs away a little.

“Why… _pray tell_ …” Zach starts calmly, but his voice has a deep chill to it that makes Chris shiver, and he can’t exactly tell if that tone excites or terrifies him. “ _Why_ … is my goddamn hair gel in your fucking _kitchen_ **_drawer_**?”

Chris doesn’t reply at first, and Zach advances a couple of step. With a fumble, Chris stumbles back clumsily, but manages to keep his balance. He holds his arm out, palm out to Zach to stop him.

“Wait, wait, okay, okay, just, before you kill me, I promise there’s a reason th-”

“ _Reason?!_ You've got my hair gel in your kitchen!”

Zach steps forward again and Chris starts to back away but stops himself, trying his best to keep his resolve.

“I…” He starts, before suddenly hardening himself a bit. With a firm face, he continues, “I. Yes, okay? Yes. I have them. I have all your stupid hair bullcrap. I have every last bottle. I’ve got bottles hidden _all over this house_!”

“I swear to god Christop-” Chris cuts him off.

“But! …But… there are two ways you can fix this situation.”

“Fix it, goddamnit it Chr-”

“You can take the hard route, and I can make this into an awful scavenger hunt while you desperately search for your fantastically ridiculous hair products…”

“They are _not_ ridiculous!”

“OR! Or you can just… let me touch your hair. And I will give them all back.”

This seems to hit a chord. Zach pauses, his face softening a bit, and he looks almost… confused.

“…Touch? Touch my hair? That’s all you want?”

Chris nods.

“Just let me touch it as it is and I swear I will give you every bottle of product you own back.”

“Okay, I’ll be honest, I am _so_ lost right now.”

Chris pauses for a moment, lifting his hand to drag across the nape of his neck.

“You just… you have nice hair… Like, _really_ nice hair. And I just want to feel it. You know, without all the gross gel and wax and expensive-as-fuck shit you put into it – by the way, why the hell do you spend _so_ much money on hair care products?”

“They are _not_ gross, and just because – no but, wait, why do you want to touch my hair??”

“Because it looks nice…”

Zach is silent for a moment, brow quirking ever so slightly as he stares back at Chris.

“Bullshit.” He deadpans, looking at Chris expectantly, as if there were some other motive behind Chris’s actions.

“…It looks like it will feel good…” Chris pauses, “And… honestly, it’s all I can fucking think about, man.”

Chris stops and looks away from Zach, leaning back against the wall if only to pretend that he is calm. He shrugs before mumbling softly.

“…Permission to speak freely, Acting Captain?”

Zach nods steadily.

“Granted, cadet…..”

Chris drops his head back down; it’s easier to talk this way, easier to talk when he isn’t looking directly at Zach, when he isn’t so focused on the renegade strands of hair that grace Zach’s forehead.

“You have… really gorgeous fucking hair. And I hate seeing it all gelled up. I like it how it is, without all the product and goop. And filming is about to start, so you’ll be styling it up into that bowl-cut day after day, and so this is like, my one chance.”

Chris sighs quietly and shrugs, continuing slowly.

“And honestly, I can’t seem to stop thinking about it. It smells really good, too, by the way… I mean, not like product and shit, but it smells like you. Not that… nurturing moisture or whatever the fuck-“

“Nourishing Styling Treatment…” Zach corrects softly. Chris just ignores the comment and continues.

“Sometimes I just wanna… touch it. Or rake my fingers through it or…”

“…Or… what?” Zach asks lowly. Chris glances back up: when did Zach get so close to him?

He’s only a couple inches away now, and before Chris can even think, Zach is suddenly grabbing his hand, pulling it up to his hair and splaying Chris’s fingers out so they can thread through it. Chris shivers involuntarily, fingers gliding through the soft, dark tresses, and Zach is staring at him with a hazy look.

“…Or what?” Zach asks again, stepping half an inch forward. Chris doesn’t lower his hand, carding through Zach’s hair with mild vigor, but he can’t reply to Zach’s question.

Zach leans into his touch and speaks again.

“Feel like you thought it would?” 

Chris just barely nods and whispers.

“And more…”

Zach steps in close again and at this point, their chests are almost touching. When he speaks, it’s low in his chest, leaning his head into Chris’s touch as he does.

“So go for more.” He hums.

That’s all the invitation that Chris needs. He twists his fingers tightly in Zach’s hair suddenly, yanking his head forward to crash their lips together. The kiss is bruising – sloppy and frenetic – but the feeling of Zach’s hair wrapped around his fingers is enough for him to forgo any form of technique or care. All he can think is _“kiss, touch, grab, kiss, tug, soft, so fucking soft, thick, so grabbable”_.

Zach is the one to break the kiss, and Chris wants to whine. But suddenly, Zach’s mouth is hot and firm against the curve of Chris’s neck, tonguing and nipping along the muscle and sinew, lips hot against Chris’s pulse. He tugs at Chris’s collar if only to mouth along the line of his clavicle.

Zach has no hesitation, migrating downward, moving further and further, shoving Chris’s shirt up as he moves. He pushes the fabric up to Chris’s shoulders carelessly, too caught up in everything to actually move to remove the shirt completely. His teeth raze over the skin of Chris’s hips as his fingers begin to fumble with the buttons of his jeans.

Once they’re undone, Zach wastes no time before freeing Chris’s erection from his briefs. Chris presses his head back into the wall when he feels Zach graze a quick lick along the underside of his dick. But Zach pauses then, just breathing steadily, and Chris pries his head up off the wall to glance down at him curiously. Zach kisses teasingly along his cock, staring back up at Chris, before mumbling tauntingly,

“Make me.”

It’s a dare, and Chris doesn’t need to be encouraged any further. His fingers tighten their grip in Zach’s hair, tugging slightly and guiding Zach’s mouth along his dick. It’s shallow at first, Zach’s lips firmly sucking on the head; each little hum Zach makes, each little flick of his tongue is enough to make Chris’s knees feel weak.

But Chris needs more, so much more, and so he pushes further, pushing at the boundaries between them that had only existed up until this very moment. He urges Zach further, guiding him along the length of his cock, and he is weak with the way Zach’s hair feels between his fingers, or the way Zach’s head moves obediently with the movements of Chris’s guiding hand. The control he has is not absolute though, and Zach makes sure to let him know that: if Chris ushers too quickly, Zach makes sure to slow down, letting Chris know that he might hold his head, but Zach will be the one to decide how and when Chris comes.

But it doesn’t stop him from trying. He grips and loosens his fingers, savoring the feeling of those silky tresses as Zach takes him deeper. Chris knows he isn’t going to last.

He doesn’t really mean to tighten his grip a little more roughly, but maybe it’s just his way of cluing Zach in that he’s close, driven fucking crazy by the way his hot mouth tortures him. When he comes, he feels his body quake and buckle with the orgasm. His fingers tighten and loosen, tugging roughly and petting gently at Zach’s soft strands.

He says Zach’s name without a moment’s hesitation.

Zach swallows everything Chris has to offer, even daring to give Chris’s post-orgasm cock one last, hard suck if only to torture him with the overstimulation. It seems to do the trick, Chris’s body jolting once more before releasing his firm grip on Zach’s hair. He slides down the wall slowly, edging himself to the floor, half upright against the wall and panting heavily.

Zach just smiles coyly, crawling closer to him to steal a kiss. Chris tries to smile back, but he’s sure his face is ridiculous; he’s a boneless wreck and he’s positive the grin on his face is nothing short of fucked-out and lovesick. He reaches out for Zach, slipping his fingers along his cheek, and then further into his hair to coax his companion down again for one more kiss. Zach doesn’t hesitate, tongue already out to mingle with Chris’s, and Chris loves the way he can taste himself on Zach’s lips. When they break apart, Chris is still breathless.

“Fuckin’ Christ, Zach…” Chris pants, still smiling stupidly, “That was… that was all I could’ve wanted, jesus. Love you, man.”

Zach smirks.

“Yeah, love you too.” He says, before pausing for a moment and shrugging, “But I really just needed my hair stuff back.”

Chris stops short and stares at Zach incredulously, ready to be both hurt and offended. But Zach just smiles coyly and gives Chris a playful shove.

“I’m _joking_ , I love ya, I swear.” Zach inches forward and gives Chris another playful peck on the lips before pulling away, the smile fading from his face immediately, replaced but nothing but seriousness. “But no, fucking really, where are they?”

**::**

**Author's Note:**

> I am nothing but filthy trash, thank you all so much. 
> 
> If you're interested, I do have a [tumblr](http://commodorecliche.tumblr.com); feel free to check me out. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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